


Persistent Incompetence

by MlleMusketeer



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bad Flirting, Cultural Differences, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Language, Starscream makes many assumptions and few of them are correct
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15331224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleMusketeer/pseuds/MlleMusketeer
Summary: Starscream has a crush.He deals with it badly.





	Persistent Incompetence

Starscream had a problem.

This was not unusual. Starscream’s entire existence was a problem for _someone_ , and he took great care in seeing that it remained that way. As for his own problems, they were rarely of a sort that couldn’t be fixed with a little technical expertise, persistence, percussive maintenance, a kidnapped Autobot here or there, or, should worst come to worst, running just a little faster than Megatron could. Starscream was good with problems. He prided himself on his problem solving skills. They were probably why no other Decepticon had gotten away with as many attempts on Megatron’s life as he had, and lived to tell the tale.

But this problem.

This problem had stymied even his brilliant mind.

He was reduced to pacing the floor of his quarters, Thundercracker and Skywarp looking on with far more bemusement than was fair, polite, or justifiable. “Perhaps,” he muttered, his mind busy at work with the conundrum he faced, “perhaps, if I modify the control helmet, I can erase…”

“Dude,” said Skywarp, too comfortable with human slang by far, “just ask Megatron if he’s down to fuck.”

Starscream rounded on him with a snarl. “He’s not some Polyhexian trollop!” 

Thundercracker shrugged. “It works on me?”

Starscream screeched his annoyance with useless trinemates, inconveniently attractive warlords, and his own glitched programming to the sky. Or at least to the ceiling of their quarters, which happened to be the floor of Soundwave’s.

At least he could get something out of it.

* * *

 

He slept on the problem and decided that if nothing else would work to rid him of this bothersome crush, he would simply do what he did best: get what he wanted.

Megatron. Madly in love with him. Courted, reduced to an adoring puddle at Starscream’s pedes.

“You do, um, realize this is Megatron,” said Thundercracker. 

Starscream ignored him. He had lots of practice ignoring Thundercracker.

* * *

 

Starscream knew how to court a mech. He had lots of practice. He’d been Winglord of Vos. The only difference was, Megatron wasn’t already actively throwing himself at Starscream’s beautifully polished pedes. 

That had to change.

First of all, you brought fuel to someone you were courting. Good fuel. Better than the average. Starscream spent a week refining Earth hydrocarbons into something—well, it wasn’t great, but it was immensely better than the average rations. He decanted it into a cube, where it sparkled, pink and gold where the planet’s dreary little sun hit it. 

Megatron wouldn’t be able to resist this. Starscream looked proudly at the energon, then flew back to the Nemesis. 

* * *

 

He presented it to Megatron at breakfast.

Megatron looked at the cube, up at Starscream’s face, down at the cube, sideways to Soundwave. “I think this is your least subtle poisoning attempt yet,” he said.

Then he drank it anyway.

In one go. Not breaking optic contact.

“For your information, it is _not_ poisoned. Idiotic glitch,” said Starscream, and stalked away. As if he didn’t know that Megatron was quite capable of processing things that _should_ have felled a cityformer. 

After all, he had made several previous attempts to poison the mech.

“What’s his malfunction?” he heard Megatron say to Soundwave.

“Starscream’s malfunction: Starscream’s to confess,” said Soundwave, and he sounded suspiciously like he was trying not to laugh.

* * *

 

There were no crystal gardens on Earth to gather the appropriate delicate, chiming flowers from. Starscream did the best he could.

“WHY IS THERE A PILE OF ROTTING ORGANIC VEGETATION IN FRONT OF MY QUARTERS?”

He had to admit that perhaps he could have done better with that one.

* * *

 

At least bringing Megatron an Autobot was more productive.

Unfortunately, that Autobot was Hot Rod.

“At least Prime wanted him back?” Skywarp offered, and was rounded on by both Starscream and Megatron.

* * *

 

The gelled energon candies went the same way as the energon had. At least Megatron had looked mildly impressed with the flavor. 

* * *

 

“Just ask him if he’s down to fuck,” said Thundercracker, sounding exhausted.

“No,” snapped Starscream, attempting to do with Earth minerals and his lab what entire cosmetics factories on Cybertron were devoted to.

Megatron didn’t repaint himself for weeks, and had the paint tested for poison, and eventually lent part of it to Soundwave for detailing his little parasites. 

 

* * *

 

“Maybe you should try courting him like a Tarnian?” offered Skywarp.

“NO! I’ll do it properly or not at all!” 

* * *

 

At least the quartz crystals went over fairly well, if fairly well was denoted by confusion rather than suspicion.

* * *

 

“I mean, Tarnians like line dances,” said Skywarp. “Here’s a recording.”

Starscream was running out of ideas. He watched the recording. He was nearly certain he’d seen Prime approach Megatron that way. His servos balled into fists. “I’ll kill him,” he said, and stormed away. 

“I thought you wanted to court him,” said Skywarp, bewildered.

* * *

 

“Starscream: should tell Megatron. Starscream: is giving Soundwave a processor-ache.”

“Frag OFF!”

* * *

 

“Seriously, I don’t think he’s going to pick up on anything less than you asking him if he wants to—,”

“If you want to keep your glossa you won’t finish that sentence,” said Starscream, busily drawing a diagram. 

* * *

 

Even Megatron couldn’t mistake this, Starscream thought as he pulled a pair of cubes out of his subspace. He’d spent ages on this. Well. Three days. That was a lot of time for him; he was a busy mech! And perhaps a Decepticon sigil built from scrap metal the height of a cityformer was overdoing it somewhat, but when all else failed, no one could mistake a piece of art made for them for anything but a declaration of intent… and he’d brought the cubes in case Megatron really _was_ so stupid as to need it explained to him. 

He sent the ping to Megatron that his project was finished. That should gain his interest, even if he did think it was of military importance.

Starscream settled back to wait for him, totally missing the Autobot in the shrubbery behind him; Jazz, however, was very much living up to his reputation, had intercepted and deciphered the ping, and was now quite certain that the immense Decepticon sigil in the center of a previously pristine lagoon was not only ugly, but a doomsday device of unprecedented power.

He called for backup. _All_ the backup.

* * *

 

“What is this?” Megatron looked up at the sculpture. “What does it _do?_ ”

“It’s art,” Starscream informed him, snootily. “I made art. For you.”

“It’s not art, it’s propaganda,” said Megatron, but there was no sting in it. “Why?” 

Starscream handed him the cube of energon. Megatron took it, obviously distracted, and drank from it without a comment about poison. “Haven’t you figured it out already, you overgrown—”

Unfortunately for Starscream, that was the moment the Autobots attacked. 

* * *

 

It was not the Decepticons’ proudest moment.

For one, there were a _lot_ of Autobots.

For another, Optimus Prime was really, seriously certain that his chief of special operations’ assessment of the situation was correct, that the immense sculpture was a weapon of mass destruction that Megatron had trusted none other than Starscream with, and that therefore the Decepticons standing there must be neutralized immediately.

Megatron, on the other hand, was bewildered because his second in command had been acting downright bizarre in the last month. He was totally focused on this problem, and also on the very good energon Starscream had handed him. Fighting a battle to the death in the midst of this confused contemplation was not something he was prepared for.

Starscream was upset that his evening had gone so badly and that Optimus’s route of attack was _obviously_ the first steps of one of those Tarnian line-dances and therefore not only had Optimus crashed his damn date, but was hitting on his intended. 

Unfortunately, outrage wasn’t enough. 

 

* * *

 

“This is your fault,” said Megatron.

Starscream groaned and slumped lower. The lack of immediate argument made Megatron frown at him with concern.

They were propped against each other in a cell—really, a former broom closet, as the Ark had never been meant as a military ship. It hadn't exactly been designed to have two large Decepticons jammed in it. Pit, its original function would have been difficult; it was _small._

In other words, if they hadn't just been captured by Autobots, with no one aware of where the were, and only Soundwave between them and the persistent incompetence of the Dcepticon Army winning the war for the Autobots, it would have fit one of Starscream's fantasies exactly. 

Unfortunately, they'd just been captured by Autobots.

Megatron frowning at him in a worried way was small consolation under these circumstances. 

Megatron let out a long, resigned sigh. "Well, if you're just going to _sulk..._ "

Silence, and the next look Megatron bordered on the alarmed. "Starscream. Why haven't you insulted me even once? Did they damage you?"

Starscream let out a long, miserable, sparkbroken sigh. "Just when I was going to settle this for once and for all—and then _Autobots_ ," he said bitterly.

"Settle what?"

Starscream sighed again, even more heavily.

"You haven't been yourself recently," said Megatron, in the same tone of voice someone observes that maybe, just maybe, the red wire is not the one to cut. "You haven't tried to kill me _once_ in the last month." If he didn't know better Starscream would have said he sounded hurt. 

"What's it to you?"

"I miss it," said Megatron. 

"Yeah, well, I might just go back to it if you keep flirting with the Prime," snapped Starscream. 

"I'm not flirting with Prime! Why would you think I'd ever want—" Megatron seemed to realize his voice was rising to near-Starscream levels and visibly wrested control back, finishing with, "to flirt with _Prime?_ I thought _we..."_ He trailed off and looked bewildered. "You haven't tried to kill me in over a month."

This time there was no mistaking it. He did sound dejected.

Not that it gained much pity from Starscream. "Oh, and how about those _Tarnian line dances_ Pime's been approaching you with?" 

"What line dances?" said Megatron blankly. "Starscream, I might be _from_ Tarn, but they transferred me offworld before my final upgrades had settled. I wasn't flirting with anyone in Tarn. I wasn't flirting with anyone until Kaon. Before that, I was somewhat preoccupied with _staying alive."_

Starscream raised his helm and blinked, slowly, at Megatron, processing this. "And how do people flirt in Kaon?" he asked at last. 

"Friendly fights. For dominance," said Megatron, and looked at him expectantly.

 

* * *

 

(Meanwhile, on the other end of the closed circuit camera monitoring the Autobot brig, Jazz, Optimus, and Ironhide all leaned closer, Jazz narrating as if it were a basketball game. Unfortunately Jazz's knowledge of basketball was more enthusiastic than accurate. It was a testament to Optimus's patience that he hadn't corrected Jazz once. His TIC having fun was more important. 

"This is it, folks," said Jazz into an imaginary microphone. "Endgame! Will Starscream finally score? Will Buckethead finally get a clue?"

"Don't see why it actually matters," said Ironhide, and leaned closer anyway.)

* * *

 

Starscream processed this for a few moments. 

Then, "YOU THOUGHT I WAS BEING FRIENDLY?!?"

* * *

 

("And he misses," said Jazz. "He absa-fucking-loutely misses."

"Primus fragging dammit," said Ironhide, a bit more of a purist when it came to swearing than Jazz was.

Optimus just sighed. "We should just interrogate them. Using...this...as entertainment... doesn't sit right with me.")

* * *

 

"Well, you never succeeded," Megatron said, reasonably enough.

"So you thought I was flirting with you?"

"Yes. And then you stopped. Why?"

"BECAUSE I WAS COURTING YOU, PRIMUSDAMMIT! PROPERLY!"

“Oh." There was a busy silence. With enough determination, even stasis cuffs could be overcome.

* * *

 

(“Oh. _Oh..._ oh dear," said Jazz, shocked past swearing. "Um. Should we tell Optimus to come on back?"

"Nah," said Ironhide. "He'll deal.”)

* * *

 

Optimus walked in, looked through the forcefield, and froze. 

"I am so sorry," he said after a desperate scramble to regain something like composure. "I'll give you two some privacy, shall I?"

* * *

 

In the end, it was Prowl who dealt with them, as he was used to dealing with far worse from the twins. It was a fairly brief dealing-with, at that; Soundwave arranged a rescue a scant few hours later. 

It was almost as if he'd planned the whole thing. 

 


End file.
